Panic
by YJ-Obsessed
Summary: Post!Nogitsune; Stiles has a panic attack, and Scott is there for him. He always will be. Trigger Warning: panic attacks. (This was gonna be a one-off, but turned into a series of one shots)
1. Chapter 1

_This takes place somewhere after the end of 3B, but before season 4 of Teen Wolf. This has been running around my head a lot. For right now, it's just a one-shot, but if you guys like it, I might write another chapter or two!_

[Scotty] Mom made waffles for breakfast. You should come over and have some.

Stiles smiled a little at the text. Mama McCall _did_ make the best waffles, but he had a feeling that wasn't the reason Scott was inviting him over. It was no secret that Stiles hadn't been eating much after the Nogitsune fiasco, and his best friend was probably inviting him over in an effort to keep Stiles from starving to death. He appreciated it, but he also wasn't entirely sure that he deserved it. Still, Stiles quickly sent a reply back.

[Stiles] Gimme like 20 min. Shower, then I'll come.

[Stiles] You better not eat all the waffles before I get there

He dropped is phone on his bed and got up to go take what he intended to be a quick shower. Of course, nothing was ever so simple for the token human of the McCall pack. Somehow, his thoughts found their way to his time possessed by Void. He closed his eyes as he tried to block the flashes of memories of the people he was forced to kill, and the blood— _so much blood_. When he opened his eyes, he yelped when he saw red on his hands. Blood. There was _blood_ on his hands. His breathing kicked up and his hands started shaking. Everything got blurry as he fell to the floor of the shower.

Stiles curled up in a ball at the end farthest from the shower head, still getting sprayed by the water. He struggled to breathe through the panic attack and tears started streaming down his face. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, but the water eventually started running cold, so it had to have been quite a while. Stiles still didn't get up, even as he was pelted with icy water. He looked up when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. "Scott?" he replied faintly.

* * *

It had been over an hour since Stiles texted him, and Scott was admittedly freaking out a little- **a lot**. After forty-five minutes, he started the inward debate of whether or not he should go check on his best friend. Stiles could have easily just gotten distracted. It wouldn't have been the first time. But after an hour, Scott knew something was wrong. He could feel it in his chest. There was an uneasy pressure there, and he just _\- he knew_. Stiles would have let him know by now if he'd gotten caught up doing something, or just plain forgot.

So Scott grabbed his keys and helmet and rode his motorcycle over to Stiles' house. Immediately, Scott felt something off. He opened the door, not bothering with knocking. Stiles had given him a key long ago for situations like this. "Stiles? Hey man, it's-" Scott was overwhelmed with the stench of fear and anxiety that assaulted his nose. He was already making his way to the stairs when he heard the water running. "Stiles? Where are you, man?" When he heard his name, in a frail, trembling voice that should never come out of his best friend's mouth, along with ragged breathing and a pounding heart, Scott bolted up the stairs. "Stiles!"

The Alpha froze when he made it in the bathroom. He carefully pulled back the curtain and felt his heart breaking at the sight of Stiles, huddled in the corner, shaking. "Stiles," he repeated gently. "Stiles, you okay?" The only sort of reply he got was Stiles shaking his head while he made a valiant attempt at breathing. Scott reached over and turned the water off, shocked when he felt the freezing temperature. He crouched down at the side of the shower and slowly put his hand out. "I'm gonna touch you, okay?" He waited until the small nod of consent before putting his hand on Stiles' shoulder. He knew Stiles got agitated easily when like this, and didn't want to make it worse by shocking him with the sudden touch. Stiles was freezing, and that made Scott worry all the more. The cold water probably hadn't helped his breathlessness any. "Can you stand?" he asked softly. Stiles shook his head weakly. Scott leaned into the shower and wrapped his arms around his friend, not bothered by the fact that he was naked. He carefully lifted Stiles up and carried him to his bed.

In the next few minutes, Scott quickly dried Stiles off as best he could and slid a pair of boxers on him before wrapping the covers around him. Scott sat on the bed next to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, but didn't get too close. He didn't want Stiles to feel crowded. His best friend continued to shake, and the True Alpha felt completely helpless. He paused, about to ask what happened, when he heard Stiles muttering something. "What? Stiles, say that again." Scott leaned closer.

"Talk," Stiles repeated in a hoarse voice. " _Please_."

Scott bobbed his head. Talk. He could do that. He wasn't as great at coming up with things to fill the silence as his best friend was, but he could sure as hell try for Stiles. "Don't hate me, but I kinda ate all the waffles," Scott said, saying the first thing that came to mind. He smiled brightly when he heard choked laughter. "They were really good, too. You missed out." He didn't say anything else for a few minutes, not sure _what_ to say.

"You're gonna be okay, Stiles," he promised quietly.

Stiles looked at him with eyes full of doubt. "How?"

"Because you still got me. All this craziness and _you've still got me_." When Stiles still didn't look convinced, Scott sighed. "I'm Scott, you're Stiles. We've been best friends since kindergarten. We've been with each other through everything: divorce, death, crushes, middle school, **werewolves** —" Scott put particular emphasis on that, because he could never express enough how grateful he was to Stiles for helping him through this. "We're going to finish high school _together_. We'll go to college _together_ , be at each other's weddings. We'll be there for each other when we have kids. It's you and me, Stiles. Always." At some point, Scott had wrapped his arm around Stiles' shoulder. "We'll get through this, too, Stiles. Just like everything else."

A rapid heartbeat slowed down, and Stiles' breathing evened out. His eyes were full of tears from Scott's words. He snaked one hand out from the cocoon Scott had put him in and grabbed the hand on his shoulder. Scott smiled for a moment, before realizing that he could feel pain in the touch.

"Stiles. . . What's wrong?" he demanded, quickly moving so he was crouched in front of Stiles, looking him over.

Stiles frowned in confusion. "What're you talking about, Scottie?"

Scott took Stiles' hand in both of his. "You're in pain, I can feel it. What happened?"

"Oh. . ." Stiles looked away and bit his lip for a moment. "Nothing happened, 's fine."

"Stiles—"

"Remember that dull ache I told you about?" Stiles interrupted quietly. He met Scott's eyes again, and Scott was shocked by how tired his friend looked.

"I- Yeah, _vaguely_."

Stiles nodded, like he expected this answer. "It never really went away." He pulled his hand back and started bunching his covers together, then unbunching it, and bunching them again. "It's not a big deal, I've gotten used to it," he mumbled.

"What do you mean, _you've gotten used to it_?! Why didn't you tell someone? Your dad, my mom, _me_?" Scott didn't realize how loud his voice got until Stiles recoiled. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down, to quell the panic, the anger at himself from not seeing it sooner. "Where does it hurt?"

"Kinda, sorta. . everywhere. I don't know if it's from not sleeping, or not eating enough, or just from the constant state of panic over the past few months. . ." Stiles trailed off and bit his lips together.

Scott sighed and slowly uncurled the fingers of one or Stiles' hands, until it was free of the blanket. He held it between his own and black veins bulged under his skin. Stiles made a sound of protest in the back of his throat and tried to tug his hand out of Scott's far-too-strong grasp.

"Scott—"

Eyes flashed red for just a second, but it was long enough to silence any argument. "Let me help you," Scott said in a gentle, but commanding voice. Stiles nodded after a moment and let his head hang tiredly. Scott stood, still holding his friend's hand, and gently guided his body to a laying down position. "Close your eyes, Stiles. Try and get some sleep," he said, sitting next to Stiles again.

It wasn't that the pain was so intense, but that it was **bone deep**. It wasn't any wonder, now, why Stiles didn't get much sleep. As if the nightmares weren't bad enough. It didn't take long for his best friend's eyelids to start drooping. Stiles was fighting sleep, that much was obvious. "It's okay," Scott promised. "I'll be right here when you wake up." Stiles entire body seemed to melt into the mattress at the promise. How had Scott not noticed the constant tension in his muscles?

 _Some best friend I turned out to be_.

"I'll be right here," Scott said again, knowing that Stiles wouldn't hear him.

 _Like I said, not planning on writing any more for this. If you want more, like, favorite, comment or shoot me a message! If enough people are interested, I might do more. Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

**I did say I'd count favorites when I was deciding whether or not to make "Panic" a series. Well, 19+ favorites later, I figured I should make good. So, here's another panic attack fic I've been thinking about. Hope you like it!**

 _Stiles POV:_

It was a pop quiz, no big deal. Mr. Yukimura liked to have them every once in a while to see how much everyone was really paying attention to what they read and discussed in class. The only problem was Stiles had been BS-ing his way through class all week; with all the supernatural crap that had been going on, it was kind of hard to focus on anything he read in his History textbook. Usually, some random word would make him think of something else entirely (lately something related to the supernatural world) and he'd spend the following two hours researching it online before his dad came in and made him go to sleep because, _"Dammit, Stiles, you can't stay up till three in the morning on a school night, and no, I don't care about what you think you found that gives werewolves diarrhea or its practical applications, now GO. TO. SLEEP!"_

Long story short, Stiles was sitting in his chair, staring blankly at the page, without having written anything past his name and the date, and only fifteen minutes left in class. It would have been plenty of time if he'd actually done the reading, and had just spent nearly half an hour of class spaced out (which wasn't all that uncommon for him, even with Adderall), but it wasn't enough time for him to read through each question and make an educated guess. Not even he was that good. So, there he was, wondering how he was supposed to pull this off, and then he was thinking about how much it could effect his grade. He wondered if he'd be able to retake it, or if Mr. Yukimura would say it was Stiles fault for not doing the work. His hands got sweaty at the thought of that conversation, knowing the teacher would point out that everyone else in the pack seemed to be doing just fine in his class, so why couldn't Stiles? Stiles would probably counter with the fact that he had ADHD, so he was kind of at a disadvantage, but Mr. Yukimura might come back by saying he was doing fine in other classes; surely he could make time and put forth energy into focusing on one more class. Stiles could already hear it; the disappointment, the guilt-trip, the failing grade.

Sweaty palms turned to trembling hands and a tight chest. The more Stiles thought about it, the more panic started to build. He glanced at the clock. Less than ten minutes, now. His vision blurred and _dear God, when did someone put a vise around his chest?_ He couldn't have a panic attack in class; it was painful enough without adding humiliation, too. Stiles pushed his chair back and stumbled towards the door, mumbling "Bathroom" at Mr. Yukimura's questioning gaze. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it) it wasn't the first time Stiles had a panic attack in this particular class, so he was able to slip out the door without further explanation.

He somehow found his way to a bathroom, praying he hadn't accidentally stumbled into the Girls' room by mistake (because wouldn't that just be the cherry on this sundae from Hell?) and practically fell into the handicap stall, just managing to lock the door behind him. Stiles sank to the floor with his legs sprawled out in front of him and leaned heavily against the wall as the first wave of panic fully crashed over him. He closed his eyes tightly and wished for one of two things: death to come quickly or Scott to somehow find him before someone else did. In the moment, Stiles didn't much care which one happened, because either would bring an end to this agony.

 _Scott POV:_

He'd been fully paying attention in class until he felt it: the tight chest, shortness of breath. For a moment, Scott thought he was having an asthma attack, which made him nervous because he was a werewolf and that shouldn't be happening (though there **had** been exceptions). He briefly wondered if someone had somehow managed to dose him with wolfsbane before another feeling hit him: panic.

 _Stiles._

Scott had only experienced something like this once before, when Erica had her epileptic episode. He didn't quite know how it worked, or why it happened when it did. He only knew that Stiles was having a panic attack and, if the sudden shaking in Scott's hands was anything to go off of, it was bad. He quickly got out of class (unknowingly with the same excuse as Stiles) and took his backpack and books with him as he sped out the door; only seven minutes left of class, there would be no point in coming back.

As he shrugged the straps over his shoulders, Scott breathed in deeply, trying to catch his best friend's scent. "C'mon, buddy. . where are you?" he muttered to himself as he walked down the hall. Out of nowhere, the scent of anxiety and panic hit him almost painfully. Focusing his hearing and following his nose, Scott quickly found his best friend in the bathroom. He followed the sound of ragged, uneven breathing, and the quiet _"Oh, God, no,"_ to the handicap stall.

"Stiles?" Scott called gently as he stood outside the stall door. "Stiles, buddy, can you unlock the stall?" If not, Scott was not above breaking the lock to get to Stiles. He was about the call Stiles' name again when he heard the click of the lock sliding back. He quickly stepped in, locking the door back behind him, and knelt in front of Stiles.

"H-Ho- How'd y-y-?"

Scott put a hand to his chest. "I felt it," he told him gently. "Bad one, huh?" Stiles nodded quietly. "What happened?"

It took Stiles a while to answer. "Um. . p-pop quiz. Hav-Haven't actually done any. . any homework, s-so-"

"You didn't know the material," Scott sighed heavily. "And you panicked." Stiles nodded again. "Look, you had Mr. Yukimura, right? Kira's dad knows what we're dealing with, I'm sure he'd let you retake the test. And if you're worried about your grades, you've got straight A's, dude. One botched quiz isn't going to ruin that." Stiles shook his head in reply. "I really think he'll let you retake the quiz, if you just exp-"

"No," Stiles ground out, shaking his head again. "I- I scr- I screwed up, a-a-an'- an' I-"

Scott held up one hand in surrender, the other going to Stiles' shoulder. "Shh, okay. Shh," he hushed gently. "We'll figure it out later. Let's get through this first, though, alright?" Stiles looked at Scott with watery eyes and trembling lips as he struggled to breathe properly and nodded. "Okay. What do you need? What can I do?"

"Just. . I don'- don't know, just. . stay?" Stiles asked feebly.

Scott nodded. "Stay. Yeah, I can do that. As long as you need." These were the hardest ones, when Scott couldn't do or say anything to help his friend come back down from the panic, could only sit there and ride it out with him. But Scott would do it every time, if that's what his best friend needed. So, he sat down across from Stiles, his hand still on Stiles' shoulder, and waited. After a few minutes of silence Stiles reached out for Scott's shoulder and squeezed weakly. "I'm right here, man," Scott reassured. "Not going anywhere." Whatever he said must've been the right thing, because it had Stiles smiling and sagging against the wall as his breathing finally started evening out. "You good, man?"

"Yeah. . Yeah, just," Stiles sighed. "Gimme a minute?"

"Long as you need," Scott replied with a nod.

 **Again, review or favorite if you want more!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Because I loved the scene when Lydia kissed Stiles to stop his panic attack, so I'm writing one with her and Scott helping Stiles get through one.**

Usually, there was some sort of trigger for Stiles' panic attacks. When his mom died, he got them over things like screwing up dinner because _"Mom would have done it better"_ or guilt because he thought somehow he'd caused his mother's death or his dad drinking so much and he was worried about losing both of his parents. When Scott first became a werewolf, it was because Stiles felt like they were in over their heads, and he was just a scrawny kid with a baseball bat chasing after werewolves. Junior year it was people getting sacrificed and having to finally clue his dad in on what was going on, and his dad almost being buried alive, and then there was the whole possession and then a dead pool- Suffice to say, Stiles was used to there being a trigger, a cause for his panic attacks (because in the last two years, there had been plenty).

When one came out of the blue he didn't know how to handle it. Overwhelming anxiety, and a constant, crushing feeling of something about to go wrong? He knew how to deal with that, because that had become his normal. But he didn't know how to handle the sudden disconnect between himself and his surroundings, the feeling like everything was a dream, like he somehow wasn't a part of what was going on anymore. Stiles jumped when Scott put a hand on his shoulder.

"Whoa, dude-" Scott started with concern.

"Stiles, you okay?" Lydia asked gently. She leaned forward and reached across the table for his hand, stopping just short of his hand when he pulled away from her and Scott. The Alpha and banshee exchanged a look of concern, both noticing the uneven rise and fall of his chest and the dazed look in his eyes. "Stiles," Lydia tried again.

Stiles blinked rapidly as he tried to focus on what was going on. "Um. . Y-Yeah, I'm- I'm good."

Scott and Lydia looked at each other again confirming neither of them believed Stiles. "No," they said in unison.

Scott sat back down and leaned over as he tried to get a good look at Stiles' face. "C'mon, man, talk to us," he pleaded calmly.

"I-. . I-I-" He closed his eyes as he tried (and failed) to take a deep breath. "I guess. . I don't. . I don't feel real? Or- No, it's everything else. ." Stiles shook his head. It didn't make sense to him, so how was he supposed to explain it to his friends? "I don't know how to-" He waved one hand around as if he was trying to grab the elusive explanation out of thin air.

"Derealization?" Lydia asked with an equal measure of concern and curiosity. Both boys looked at her with confusion. She rolled her eyes but phrased her question differently. "Does this feel like it's not real? Like- Like a dream?" After a moment, Stiles nodded. Yes, that's exactly what it felt like.

"Okay. Okay, but how- Lydia, what do we do?" Scott asked quietly, looking to her helplessly.

Lydia thought back to the last time she'd helped Stiles through a panic attack, about how that solution probably wouldn't work twice, and would most likely only make things more complicated. She thought about everything she'd ever read about panic attacks (she'd done a lot of research after that whole scene in the locker room) and finally thought of something. "We give him an anchor."

"Wh-? Lydia, Stiles isn't-"

"A werewolf," she finished quietly. "I know. I'm not talking about an anchor to his humanity, I'm talking about something that will anchor him to reality. We just need to get him to focus on what's real, what's really happening." Lydia stood up, moved her chair over so she was sitting at the end of the table next to Stiles instead of across from him, and took his hand. "Stiles. If you're with me, I want you to squeeze me hand. Can you do that?" she asked gently. Her green eyes met Scott's brown for a moment and she nodded her head towards Stiles. Scott nodded back and put his hand on Stiles' shoulder again. She smiled when Stiles did as she asked. "Good. Now, I want you to tell me where you are." Stiles looked at her like she was crazy. "Just do it," she said firmly.

He shook his head, and she could practically hear the 'This is pointless' that was evident on his face. "Ah. . I'm- I'm in the library," he said uncertainly.

"Be more specific," Lydia prompted.

"I- **Fine** , _okay_ , I'm. . I'm in the library at Beacon Hills High School. . I-In Beacon Hills," he added at the look Lydia gave him.

"Where's Beacon Hills?" she asked. "Oh, just go with it," she added as Stiles gave her another doubtful look. " _Just trust me._ "

"California," Stiles answered.

Scott thought he had an idea of what Lydia was doing, so he jumped in. "Stiles, who're you with?" He saw Lydia give him a nod of encouragement, and couldn't help but smile for a second, proud he'd caught on.

"You- Scott and Lydia?"

"More specific, dude," Scott urged, like Lydia had before.

Stiles nearly groaned, not understanding what they were doing. "Scott McCall and Lydia Martin."

Lydia squeezed his hand encouragingly. "Okay, and who are we?"

"You seriously need me to answer that?" Stiles demanded.

"Who are we to _you?_ " Scott asked.

Stiles paused, thinking about that question. "You're. . You're _Scott and Lydia._ " He didn't realize that, just like Lydia had planned, his breathing was slowing down. "Scott, you're my best friend, my brother. You've been there for everything, man." Both boys got a little choke up thinking about just what 'everything' entailed. "Then there's Lydia, the girl I've been in love with since the third grade-" All three teenagers laughed at that; it wasn't the first time he'd talked about it. "I always knew how smart she was, but it wasn't until we were in high school that I learned what an amazing friend she could be, when she let you in. You two are the best people I know." He looked between them nervously, wondering if they were gonna ask him more questions. "Did I-? Was that right, w-was that okay?"

Lydia chuckled softly. "That was fine."

Scott smiled when he heard Stiles heartbeat returning to normal. "How are you feeling?"

It took Stiles a moment to answer as he took stalk of himself. "I. . I-I feel. . ." He felt real. Real and present. _But how-?_ Stiles looked at Lydia, then Scott, confusion clearly written on his face. "What-? I-I don't- I don't get it. How'd you guys do that?"

Scott clapped Stiles on the shoulder a couple times before settling his arm around Stiles. "Got you to focus on us, on what we were asking, instead of panicking," he said simply. He leaned around them human to smile at Lydia. "Nice job."

She blushed lightly and smiled at the table. "I just-"

"You read it somewhere," the boys finished in unison. They laughed and Lydia rolled her eyes at how amusing they both _thought_ they were. Even though Stiles was calm, Lydia still kept her hold on his hand. The three of them stayed like that for a while: Scott, with his arm around Stiles, Stiles leaning against Scott with one arm propping him up on the table, and Lydia holding a pale and trembling hand between both of hers.

After several minutes of this, with Scott and Lydia quietly talking around Stiles, who'd checked out a bit as he continued to relax, Stiles spoke up.

"Thanks," he mumbled. His gaze flickered up at Lydia. "Thanks," he said again.

Lydia nodded her head with a shy smile and Scott tightened his arm around Stiles.


End file.
